


Samhain - When Midnight’s Moon Wanes

by gatergirl79



Series: Samhain [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age gap relationship, Alternate Universe - Mate Bond, Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, Mate Bonding, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Vaginal Fingering, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-27 06:04:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12575316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatergirl79/pseuds/gatergirl79
Summary: Lydia expected to be chosen, it was all arranged. Jackson would pick her and they’d get married and her family would be free from finical difficulties. - Then Peter Hale showed up and ruined everything.





	1. Encounter in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is a work in progress, and I’m not sure how long it will take too finished or even when the next chapter will be up. 
> 
> This is the companion piece to Samhain: The Scent of Moonlight.
> 
> Lydia's father is a bit of an asshole in this, I decided to focus on the Mr. Martin we met during the parent/teacher meeting in season one rather than the concerned father of season two. (Which I heartily admit is a plot device.) And Jackson's secret lover is not tagged because I want it to be a surprise. It's always fun to read your reviews and your guesses, so please, let me know. 
> 
> Now on with the story. Enjoy.

Unlike many in her junior class, Lydia Martin had absolutely no desire to be chosen. She wasn't just saying that to sound aloof or modest or whatever, she really didn't. Being chosen meant that she'd be stuck. Stuck in small town America for the rest of her damn life raising damn kids and running the damn PTA. - Which of course she would be president of because she was Lydia Martin thank you very much. - She _did not_ what that to be her life. She'd made that very clear to her parents at the tender again of six. The problem was life had a way of shitting on a girls plans for world domination.

First it had been her parents' divorce, which had left her a wreck and her parents a simpering pair of four year olds arguing over anything and everything. Then had come her attack, which had been when it all really changed. In sophomore year while out parking with her boyfriend, Jackson, they'd been attacked by a rouge werewolf. They'd both been bitten, Jackson had turned, and she hadn't. In fact she'd lain in a coma for almost a week, then was a blithering mess for months after, leading to her breaking up with Jackson for a solid year, before fate intervened again.

That's when she - As well has everyone else in town. - had discovered her immunity to the bite. Lydia had thought it was an answer to her prayers. After all what kind of wolf would want a mate he couldn't turn? She'd thought it would mean she didn't have to go through the whole stupid, medieval Samhain Run. Huh, how wrong has she been?

As it turned out, despite her low chances of being a mate to any wolf, she was still forced to attend the ceremony, still has to sit on cold hard dirt all damn night just like every other member of the sophomore class. - Except those who'd been smart enough to get the hell out of town, of course. Lord she envied them now.

She'd planned on doing that, skipping town, going to visit her grandmother in Maine until this whole stupid business was over. Then her father had dropped the mother of all bombshells.

The sound of movement in the woods caught her attention and she glanced around in the dark, seeing nothing beyond the trees and leaves. Howls filled the air, announcing mates being chosen. She glanced down at her watch and frowned at the dark face, she didn't know what was keeping Jackson, but she wished he'd hurry the hell up. She was cold and bored and her butt was growing numb.

When her father had first told her that he'd lost everything, she'd been pissed. Not because it meant there was every chance of them losing their family home, or because she wouldn't be able to buy Prada or Dior any longer. No, she'd been pissed because it meant that if she wanted out of this damn hick town and to go to MIT she'd have to sell her soul, as well as her body and blood to the highest bidder. It meant that her immunity went from being a prayer come true to a lock and chain.

Because as it turned out, plenty of families were looking to rid themselves of the tainted blood, wanting their grandchildren to be born human. Because that's what her immunity did, it guaranteed a wolf free future and while born wolves like the Hales were in no rush to disown their heritage, those whose family members had been turned were overjoyed at the idea of giving their bloodlines an enema. - And front of that line was the Whitmore's.

Which was how Lydia found herself sat in the middle of the Beacon Hills preserve, shivering in her year old designer winter coat, wearing a god-damn plastic mask that was doing nothing for her complexion, waiting for her boyfriend.

 

**___(*--*)___**

 

Peter had no idea what he was thinking coming back here. He knew Talia wasn't going to exactly welcome him with open arms after everything that had happened seven years ago, like it was his fault some crazy teenager had tried to kill them all. Like he wasn't completely justified in ripping the little bitch's throat out. If Talia had been a stronger alpha she'd have done it herself. - And if she tried to forcing him to leave again, he'd tell her so. This was his home, as much as hers. He had every right to be here. She'd had no right to force him to leave just to save face in front of a town of pitch-fork whiling humans. He'd been doing his duty and revenging the pack, she was just too soft to see that.

Tightening his fingers around the steering wheel of his sleek black BMW, he turned his face up to the moon, his blood already beginning to race from its pull. The howls of distant wolves drew his attention and he exhaled slowly, glancing regretfully into the rear-view mirror at the sleeping for of his daughter, then out at the dark woodland that surrounded Beacon Hills. Woods he'd known all his life.

He'd missed out on his final chance at finding a mate because of his nephew's insane bitch of a girlfriend. He'd languished in a coma for almost two years after the fire, missing his twenty seventh birthday. So here he was, a wolf without a mate, shunned by his pack and with a teenage daughter in tow.

Malia had been a shock of a life time. Two years after waking from his coma and being ordered out of town, a young girl he hadn't seen before in his life had shown up at his apartment in San Francisco and announced "Congratulates, you're a father." apparently her mom had died only a week before, leaving her his name and address. To say he'd been skeptical would be an understatement but thankfully he'd known where to go for confirmation. DNA, even werewolf DNA, didn't lie. - So for the past three years it had just been him and Malia.

Peter turned his car into the parking lot of the Beacon Hills Motel, sighing wearily. He'd rather be staying at his house, the one he'd brought at the tender age of nineteen in hopes of raising a family with the mate he'd expected to find. Except he hadn't found a mate and probably never would now. He knew that didn't mean he couldn't settle down, have more children. He was still young by werewolf standards, but he'd lost his chance at find a mate thought The Run. If he married now it would be to an outsider and Peter would rather be alone than trust an outsider.

Releasing his fingers one at a time from the steering wheel, he turned and reached over to gently shake Malia. Her eyes fluttered open and she sat up to look around, sleepy and confused.

"We're here?"

"Yes." Peter nodded, turning back and reaching for the door. "You coming?"

Peter didn't wait for his daughter to exit the car, leaving her he walked swiftly to the reception office to inquire about two rooms, inhaling deeply of the fresh cold Beacon Hills air. There was something intoxicating about it, the scent catching his senses. Shaking it off, he stepped into the small cold office.

When he exited again a few minutes later with two keys, leaving a flustered pretty woman watching after him, he inhaled again, the scent catching his nose and he looked over to the distant tree line. The familiar haunting sound of howling tugging at his insides, poking at his already restless wolf. Turning back to the car he caught sight of Malia staring at the same woods while leaning patiently against the vehicle, intrigued. She should be out there tonight, running with the pack, hunting for a mate. Despite not being a werewolf, she was still a Hale and she still had the same primal instincts. He'd spoken to her before leaving San Francisco, but she'd insisted she wasn't interested in find a mate. She was too young, she didn't want to settle down yet.

Peter knew the truth of it though, she wasn't at ne in her own skin. She hated what she was, hated the lack of control. He knew that was partly due to her lacking a pack. Her mother, a shifter named Selena, was a loner. It came with being part coyote. She didn't need the pack the same way he did. But Malia was part wolf too, she needed that grounding influence and he'd tried to be that. To be the strong alpha she needed, but he was lacking something.

And that was why he was back if he were honest. To give Malia a chance to connect and find the anchor she needed and as much as he hated to admit it, Talia would know how to help her do that.

Stopping by the car he looked at his wary, almost skittish daughter. "You sure you don't want to run?" he asked gently.

She practically jumped; turning to look at him sharply. Her head shaking fiercely. "I want to sleep." she announced harshly, holding her hand for the key.

He watched her disappear into the dark room and inhaled deeply, pinching at the bridge of his nose as his eyes drifted closed. He allowed himself to savor the scent of home. - And something else utterly intoxicating.

 

****___(*--*)___** **

 

He smelt her before he saw her. Her scent overpowering to his senses. Not the lingering hint of perfume she obviously wore everyday but her natural aroma, reminding him of the ocean. Salty and fresh, and eternal. Peter took another few steps and there she was, sat on a large pale punk blanket, her legs curled up beneath her, clad in while like an angel. The moon ricocheted off the pure whiteness of the mask but he didn't need to see beneath it, her scent, and the pull he felt told him all he needed to know.

"You're beautiful." he whispered smoothly from the shadow of a large redwood. His shoulder pressing against it for a few moments as he watched her face turn towards him in surprise, her whole posture stiffening, her head rising defiantly. He couldn't help but smile, his lips curling slowly at the corner of his mouth before stretching into a large long river of white teeth.

"And you're a creep, what the hell are you doing sneaking around the woods like that?" she scowled at him, her eyes burning bright even in the dark, through the small eye holes in the mask.

"Looking for you." Peter smirked, moving slowly forward. "It's why you're here isn't it? Looking for a mate?" his words slipping off his tongue like syrup.

The young woman shifted on the ground, pushing her back against the tree behind her the closer he got. "I'm not..." she trailed off as he crouched in front of her, his knees brushing hers. "I don't want a mate." she finally said, steadying her slightly shaky voice.

Peter looked at her intently. "Then why are you here?"

"I'm...I'm waiting for my boyfriend."

Peter's smirk grew into a grin but his eyes were steel. Leaning further into her personal space, he dragged a stray stranded of feather-soft, strawberry blonde hair between his fingers before sweeping it back behind her ear then pushed himself forward, dropping his nose into the pool of the young woman's collarbone and inhaling deeply, feeling a spark of arousal shoot through his body. He could hear her heart pounding, her blood racing, the way her breath caught in her throat as she unconsciously tilted her head to bare her neck to him.

Less than a second later she seemed to catch herself and forced her head straight, her hands lifting to push him away, though they never quite made it to his chest, hovering between them as Peter drew closer ever so slightly, dragging his nose up the column of her throat, his cheek sweeping roughly against the mask, his breath ghosting at her ear before he spoke. "You haven't been claimed." he announced in a throaty whisper, smirking at the spike in the teenagers arousal.

"I..." she swallowed thickly before tying again. "I don't want to be climbed."

Peter didn't move his cheek from the mask, his hand bracing his weight either side of her hips, pressing her further back against the tree she'd been resting against before he'd arrived. "Then why are you here?" he asked softly.

"I...I mean...I don't want to be claimed by _you_." the last two words fell from her lips on a breath.

"No?"

She shook her head, inhaling sharply.

"You're waiting for another to claim you?" he asked sceptically. "You're boyfriend?"

"Yes. - He'll be here soon." she announced with false conviction.

Peter glanced up at the moon without moving his face too far from hers. "You've been here an hour already. If he was going to claim you he'd have found you by now."

She looked at him with a mix of fury and hurt, her mouth gaping open as if she wasn't sure just what to say. Which he had a feeling was a new experience for her. Finally she inhaled sharply, straightening her back and fixed him with a hard murderous stare. "He's just late." he voice firm and unwavering for the first time since he'd found her. "Jackson'll be here."

Peter smiled, loving the flare of anger lighting up her eyes like fireworks in the night sky. He pulled away slowly, pausing for a moment to meet her furious gaze, then he got to his feet. "Well, if you're sure then I'll bow out gracefully." he took another couple of steps back before sweeping into a dramatically low bow like some kind of Victorian gentleman, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Good!" she said sharply, distracting herself by fussing with her coat.

Peter took a few steps away before stopping once again and looking at her, already knowing she'd been following his every movement with her eyes. "I'll see you around." he promised.

"I double it." she said waveringly.

Pete's lips curled mischievously before he turned and faded mysteriously into the darkness.

 

****___(*--*)___** **

 

Lydia sat shock still watching the man vanish back into the shadows that had created him, her heart and blood racing so fast her body felt like it was on fire from the inside out. She couldn't quiet catch her breath as she pulled the mask from her face, looking up at the moon trying to judge just how long she'd been there, but couldn't tell. He'd said it had been an hour and that if Jackson was going to come then he'd have already been there, so where the hell was he? Why wasn't he there claiming her like they'd arranged?

Lowering her eyes from the sky they instantly sort out the empty space the stranger had vanished into. She couldn't stop staring, her mind whirling at the heat in her body and the way her senses seemed to scream. She raised her hand to her ear where she was sure she could still feel his breath. Her nostrils flaring with the lingering scent of him. His smooth seductive voice still ringing in her ears.

Lydia's breath caught in her chest as images whirled around her mind of that voice whispering her name while moving against her. Inside her. Her eyes fluttered closed as she inhaled shakily, her tongue slipping between her lips to choose away the sudden dryness of them.

When a distant howl caught her attention she leapt to her feet, looking around her as she swiped her hands over her thighs to clear away the debris from the forest flood. She was so tempted to just leave, to walk away from the ridiculous situation but what if she did and Jackson came looking for her. Though a small voice in her head, which was suddenly all too familiar and breathless, whispered that if he wanted her he'd already be there.

Huffing frustratingly at herself and Jackson - And the stranger. - she pulled her coat tight around her once more, flipping her long hair in the building winter breeze and lowered herself back down onto the blanket. She didn't replace her mask, it wasn't like Jackson didn't know what she looked like already.

_Samhain: Midnight Masquerade_

Peter stepped into the house, the floor scattered with leaves and dust from the years of disuse, his eyes scanning the empty entranceway as he moved further. He would have to make it presentable if he was going to live there, raise a family. He inhaled deeply and was glad to find the young woman's scent still clinging to him. He couldn't believe he'd found her. He'd given up all hope of ever gaining a mate. - And she was perfect. Not just because of the way she called to him but because he could see the strength and fire that lay within her. He could already envision a future with her. Their life together and he grinned. "She's going to make a hell of a wolf."

 

****___(*--*)___** **

 

Lydia groaned softly as she got to her feet, shivering from the early morning cold. Glancing around, she inhaled the fresh damp air. She hadn't expected to be waking up in the pre-dawn hours alone. She wondered where Jackson could possibly be.

A sudden sound of running feet had her swing around to stare at the trees, as a mere moment later her missing boyfriend appeared, flushed. His eyes narrowed as he moved within touching distance.

"Where the hell have you been?" Lydia demanded furiously, her arms folded tightly over her chest and her foot tapping against the dew-soaked leaves.

Jackson stalked forward slowly, his nose turned towards her. "Who's been here?" he demanded with equal fury, his voice rough as if he'd just woken.

"Not you that's for sure." she huffed defensively, turning angrily on her heels and marching away, only to be halted by Jackson's painfully strong hand on her upper-arm.

"We have an arrangement!" he stated firmly, his ton ice cold, his usual blue eyes flashing amber in the morning light.

"I'm here." she pointed out with a dangerous kind of calm. She'd never been intimidated by Jackson, even after he was turned and she sure as hell wasn't going to start now.

"Not alone!" he growled, pressing his face closer to hers, snarling.

Lydia stiffened, meeting the amber eyes, her nose wrinkling as she sniffed at him. "And where were _you_?" she demanded, trying to see if she could smell some other girl on him, but all she could find was a faint trace of aftershave.

Jackson paled at the demanding question, rather than answer her, he slackened his grip and began to lead her towards the parking lot, his jaw tightly locked.

Lydia stared up at him as they walked, her eyes narrowing. She knew Jackson was hiding something, it was there in his body language, in the way he couldn't meet her eyes, but it wasn't until they hit the parking area and the last of the lit street lamp hit his neck that she knew her original accusation was correct. She probably should have screamed at him, yelled, demanded answers, and two years ago she very well would have. But the truth was she didn't care enough to. Part of her desperately wanted him to call a halt to this whole fiasco. This relationship that had kept them tangled in a web of lies for over a year.

It hadn't always been like that, once upon a time she actually did love Jackson, but since he was turned something hadn't sat right between them. When her family had brought up the Samhain Rite and the Whitmore's offer, it had only added to the strain.

If Jackson call it off though, nether of their parents could blame her. It wouldn't be her destroying her family, her mom. - No, that had been her father's doing and no doubt he'd find a way to lay the blame if Mr. Whitmore withdraw his financial support from them at her feet. That she hadn't been beautiful enough, that she hadn't fought to keep him interested. That she'd been too smart, cause guys didn't like girls that were smarter than them. Yeah, it would all be her fault in his eyes. It didn't matter that they wouldn't be in this mess if he could add-up correctly. Proving once again that she'd gotten her brains for her mother.

But Jackson would never call it off. Jackson would go along with anything to impress his parents, to fit in, to be the best and all because he'd been adopted, like he needed to prove he was worthy of them having chosen him as their son.

They paused beside Jackson's Porsche, Lydia moving to grab the door when he gripped her wrist tightly, his blue eyes burning into hers once more. " _Don't_ tell anyone that I didn't find you." it was an order; harsh and cold, and it bit deeply into Lydia's last nerve.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't?" she challenged furiously. "If you don't want this Jackson, then just say so. - Why keep up this farce? - Who is she?"

Jackson's hand tightened painfully. She looked down and could already see the skin reddening but she didn't make a sound, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction, and she just gritted her teeth, breathing though her nose as her boyfriend took a dangerous step close to her, his face inches from hers. "Keep your mouth _shut_! You've got more to lose than I have Lydia. I'd hate for everyone to learn about your situation."

Lydia narrowed her eyes, swallowed the words and tears that were fighting for dominance in her throat. It had been a long time since she'd given up hope of recapturing those early happy years of their relationship.

Jackson's hand was gone in a breath and he stepped away, heading for the driver's side. "Get in the car. I'll drive you home. - And make sure you shower before tonight, you stink." he spat.

Lydia slid into the seat hating herself more than she ever thought possible. She should have the strength to tell Jackson where to shove it, to stand up to her family, but she didn't, despite what everyone at school thought of her, she wasn't strong. She wasn't heartless. Closing her eyes she let her head lull to the side, pressing against the cold window, not caring about the condensation on her skin. Her fingers rubbing absently at her wrist.

As the car moved away from the parking lot she sort sanctuary of a warmer, gentler touch, wishing not for the first time since meeting her stranger that she hadn't chased him away.

 

****___(*--*)___** **

 

Peter stretched out on the bed; staring out at the first beams of sunlight breaking through the motel room curtains. He hadn't slept, his mind filled with an intoxicating scent and a blanket of soft red hair he craved seeing spread out on the pillow beside him. Watching the day breaking, he sighed at the thought of his faceless beauty walking out of the woods alone. - Or maybe she wouldn't be. Maybe the one she'd been waiting for when he'd found her had escorted her from the trees. Peter growled, his fingers tightening in the sheets, his nails piecing holes. She was his, that much was obvious to him and he was sure to her too. The idea that someone else was attempting to stake a claim to her made his blood boil. He was simply just going to have to make his position clear to the whole of Beacon Hills and the Samhain Ceremony was the perfect place to do it.

Until then thought he had a daughter and a house to see to.


	2. Seduction isn't Always Easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think this will be as long as the first story in this series

It had been a long time since Peter had seen the gym at Beacon Hills High School, and in all honesty, he hadn't ever expected to see it again, certainly not under these circumstances. Yet here he was, surrounded by the thick scent of pack and arousal, not to mention the general stench of teenagers. The dark claret of the school colors offset with the traditional royal blue and silver of the hunt. Balloons and streamers strung around, and music pumped from speakers adding to the almost suffocating din of noise. He hated it.

Ordinarily he wouldn't have even bothered coming to this ridiculous excuse for tradition. It was all a farce and they all knew it. The town tolerated them, yes. They sacrificed their children to them, yes. But only a fool believed they were happy about it. The general aura of the town was tight lipped resignation. They knew they couldn't do anything to stop the wolves and they surrendered to the inevitable, but there was hatred and anger in the eyes of every inhabitant of Beacon Hills. - If only his sister would see it.

Peter swaggered his way further into the room, his sense attuned to his surrounding, searching for a practically addictive scent he'd been craving all day. He'd caught it on the air now and then, but never strong enough to pinpoint its owner. He smoothed down his black suit jacket and tugged at the collar of his pristine white shirt and scanned the sea of bodies.

He was desperate to see her again, pathetically so much in all honestly. He could almost be furious at himself for the need, if not for the knowledge that she was his. - Whether she knew it or not. - He’d barely been able to concentrate on anything else as he’d tried to get his life in order.

In a desperate attempt to distract himself, he'd tried to focus on other things. He'd called the woman he’d been paying to keep his house secure and free of squatters, who as it turned out had been _unexpected_ called away from town. He knew what that meant, her son or daughter was of age and she didn’t want them involved in the Run. It wasn’t the first family in the past three hundred years to have pulled the ‘Family Emergency’ excuse and it would undoubtedly not be the last. Peter had just grumbled about the inconvenience and then hung up.

The rest of the day had been spent in his motel room planning. He knew he was going to have to face his sister eventually, but he’d decided almost immediately that Talia could wait to be informed of his return with the rest of the town, and what better way to do that than to arrive at her precious ball and snatch away one of the intended. Peter smirked to himself.

As for his daughter, well she'd refused to attend with him, understandable. It wasn't like she knew anyone in the town, nor had she participated in the Run. Instead Malia had gone off almost the second the sun was up, and Peter was sure he wouldn't see her until she was ready to be seen. She got that from her mother, regrettably.

After a few minutes Peter caught sight of a familiar face and smiled to himself, setting course. He was a few feet away when he caught his nephews name in the air. " _Dude, that's Derek Hale."_ Peter turned, seeking out the voice and grinning at the sight of Stiles Stilinski. Despite his years of absence, he'd know that boy anywhere. _"You remember him, right? He's like a few years older than us. He was dating some girl…Kate…. Argent. He's why the pack house was almost burnt down."_ the boy added. Peter clearly caught the bitter undertone of the statement and sighed.

He turned to stare at Derek, the young man with his back to the crowd, shoulder tense and an undeniably aura of 'stay away' floating from him, along with the overpowering scent of anger, shame and....claimed. Not that Peter was surprised, despite Laura's meddling, and yes, he knew all about that, the pair were destined for each other. Nothing can hold a mate bond at bay for long, not without serious consequences.

"So that's your mate? Interesting." he announced dryly, coming to a halt next to Derek.

Derek spun around to stare at him, eyes wide with shock. "Peter? What are you doing here?"

"I came for a visit." he lied casually, shrugging.

"Does...mom know?"

Peter huffed out an unamused laugh when he caught sight of his sister in the crowd, her eyes flash red in the dim light. "If she didn't she does now." he replied, nodding at her. He watched her like an eagle as she steady marched towards him, a smile fixed to her face but beneath it Peter could fail to see the fury. He ignored her, turning back to Derek. "So, you finally found yourself a mate? Your mother must be so please." his gaze flickered past his sister to Stiles, taking his time to note how the boy had grown. "He hasn't changed much."

"You know him?" Derek demanded defensively.

Peter sighed. it was clear from the question that Derek's enforced amnesia was still in effect.  You'd think for such a powerful alpha as his sister claimed to be, she'd be able to fix her own son. "We've had our encounters." he replied dully. "He is the sheriff's son after all. - You don't look particularly happy about it Nephew. What's wrong? Not crazy enough for you?" he knew it was a low blow, and in all honestly it was aimed more at his sister than his nephew.

"Peter!" Talia snapped, stopping in front of the pair.

He'd told Talia not to trust the hunters, that she had to put a stop to Derek's relationship with them. They may spout off about following a code, but deep down no hunter could be trusted. But of course, as she always did, Talia had ignored his warns. She'd said that it was all childish fancy and that Derek was never going to pick her and that deep-down Kate didn't want to be pick. She'd had faith it was all going to work itself out. -- Only she'd underestimated Kate Argent. She may not have want Derek, wanted to be a mate, but she'd convinced herself she was. She'd been so sure that Derek would pick her that when he didn't she'd been furious and wrathful, and they'd almost paid the price.

"Derek, go make with Stiles. I'll join you in a moment."

Peter watched at his nephew reluctantly followed his mother's orders and dragged himself over to where the boy was stood with his friend.

"What are you doing here Peter?" Talia demanded, fingers curled furiously at her side.

"And it's a joy to see you to sister. How are you?" Peter inquired nonchalantly, his eyes burning into his sister.

Talia met his defiant gaze with a flash of red, her lips pressed in a frustrated thin line.

"I can't to enjoy the festivities."

"I meant Beacon Hills, Peter!" she snapped irritably.

Peter sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. "Last I check, sister mine, this is as much my home as yours."

"Not anymore. - You should leave."

Peter flashed his blue eyes at the older woman. "Is that another order?"

"Peter." Talia sighed warily. "Can we not have this argument tonight."

"Argument? Who's arguing." he straightened his spine, lowering his voice dangerously. "I will not let you keep me from my home, Talia. Not anymore. I have a right to be here. A right to raise my daughter here."

His sister startled, brows raising. "Daughter?"

 _Shit_. He hadn't meant to tell her about Malia, at least not yet. "Yes."

There was a thick silence between them and he watched his sister physically deflate. "How old?"

"Seventeen." He reluctantly confessed.

Talia raised a brow. "You brought her home for the Run?"

"No. She doesn't want anything to do with the Run." he informed her firmly.

"And her mother?" Talia asked cautiously. "She is with you?"

Peter gritted his teeth at the tone. He could almost hear the 'so you finally settled', because he couldn't possibly have found a mate. He'd missed his chance there, hadn't he? "No." he growled. "She's dead. It's just the two of us."

Talia's eyes softened, and she lowered her head regretfully. "I'm sorry Peter. Truly."

He wanted to tell her not to be, that Malia's mother was a heated fling that lasted one weekend during summer break. That she wasn't his mate and he wasn't in love with her. He wanted to announce that all her sad looks and sympathy were pointless. That he'd found his mate, finally and she was breath taking and stunning, and he would have her rules be damned. But he kept silent, fully aware if Talia discovered that fact now, she'd try her hardest to keep him from the girl.

"I should go..." she nodded over her shoulder to her son, who was currently putting his foot in his mouth and looked seconds from throwing his mate through a wall. "Come for dinner tomorrow, we'll talk. - And stay out of trouble, Peter. At least for tonight." she called over her shoulder.

Peter exhaled a relieved breath as she quickly abandoned him. She hadn't asked exactly what he was doing at the ball, though that will probably be among the questions she'd be bombarding him with over dinner. If he decided to attend that was.

Wearily Peter scanned the room once more, searching for that desired wave of red hair only to be disappointed. Turning his back on the mass of hormonal teenager and their simpering parents, Peter poured himself a drink. It suddenly occurred to him that she probably wasn't going to attend. Why would she? She wasn't the mysterious wolf's mate, she was _his_.

Of course, the ball was mandatory and very few had the balls to snub the event and risk the wrath of pack and peers alike. However, he thought if anyone would, it would be his girl.

As if being conjured up from his mind, Peter caught the hauntingly familiar scent on the air and turned sharply, tuning in his sense to seek her out.

 _"Just remember to behave yourself."_ a harsh male voice whispered.

 _"I'm not a child."_ she snapped back. _"I know why I'm here."_

There was a bitter spite to her tone that caused Peter to frown.

_"Jackson could have chosen any girl in the world, but he chose you, be grateful for that. - And don't be snarky or show off!"_

_"Show off?"_

_"Jackson isn't dating you for your brain Lydia and he certainly won't be marrying you for it."_

_"Robert!"_ A woman hissed furiously.

_"No. We've got too much at stake to risk losing everything because your daughter doesn't know her place."_

The plastic cup in Peter's hand crumpled, punch spilling over the wooden floor.

_"Robert they'll hear you."_

Robert scoffed. _"Like everyone doesn't already know. - Where are you going!"_

_"To powder my nose."_

_"Well just you be sure to be back before the ceremony!"_

Peter growled low in his throat, causing a few wolves to turn and watch him with caution. Setting the crumbled pieces of the cup on the table, Peter tugged at his suit jacket and marched angrily from the gym.

 

**___(*--*)___**

 

Lydia slumped back against the toilet stall door, inhaling deeply and closing her eyes. Her chest heaved as she fought off the threat of tears and the gut wrenching humiliation. Now everyone would know, everything. After all the hard work she'd put into keeping her family situation under wraps. Having brushed off all the snide comment from Jackson's mother and father. Sure, they liked her well enough, but it didn't change the fact that she was little more than a commodity to them. She had but one purpose, delivering them wolf free grandchildren to continue the family name.

And now the whole school would know it too.

It wouldn't be so bad, she thought, if she were Jackson’s mate, if he'd sort her out the previous night. If she knew the relationship they'd built over the past few years went deeper that good sex and social status. That the love she felt for him wasn't fuelled purely by teenage hormones.

Instead she'd been left to shiver on the dark while Jackson was off, god knows where, with god knows who.

She wasn't fool enough to believe there wasn't someone else, Jackson had been acting strangely for months now. Practically since there attack, but she'd done what she did best, she put on a mask and lied to everyone. - Especially herself.

"Just one more year." She whispered to herself. "One more year and we'll be away from here."

Lydia's heart leapt into her throat at the sound of footsteps on the tiled floor. Her eyes flew open and she stared down at the shadow beneath the door, the tips of polished shoes. Her heart leapt into her throat. "J-Jackson?" She whispered nervously.

She took a deep breath, inhaling through her nose and closing her eyes, waiting for him to answer. A rich raw scent played at her senses, sending a shiver through her. Swallowing thickly, Lydia's tongue slipped between her lips, her heart beginning to race.

"Hello?" Lydia breathed, taking a small step towards the door. Heat began to pool low in her stomach.

Thoughts of the previous night flooded into her mind, not that her mysterious stranger had been far from her thoughts. When she'd gotten home she'd gone directly to her room. As she'd laid on her bed, she'd thought back to his words, his tongue. The heat that had rolled off him to fill her up.

Lydia had never been shy about her sexual desires, Jackson had taken great satisfaction in them, _once upon a time_. However as much as she was at ease with her sexuality, what she felt last night, and now as she stood staring at those shoes, terrified her.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly reached for the lock, hand trembling and thighs abuzz with heat and energy.

Before she could wrench the door open a flower was slowly pushed beneath the door. Small and purple, delicate. Frowning she bowed to collect it, lifting it to her nose, her eyes closed, inhaling deeply at the sweet scent. It seemed to heighten her senses, her mind clearing of anything but the heat of her body and the beat of her heart.

When she opened her eyes once more the shoes were gone. Instantly Lydia ripped open the door, only to find her reflection staring back at her. Stepping cautiously out into the restroom, Lydia glanced around, confirming to herself that she was alone once more.

 

Her body seemed to melt as tension evaporated and she stumbled to the basin. Leaning heavily on the counter, Lydia hung her head, breathing heavily while waiting for her heart beat to calm. After a few long seconds she looked up, staring into her own eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, shadows beneath her eyes.

How had her life ended up like this? She asked herself, dragging her fingertips under her eyes. She could remember once upon a time being seduced by the idea of the Run. Practically from the moment she'd learnt the town secret she'd fantasized about the strong handsome wolf that would one day claim her, but then she'd imaged a sweeping fairy-tale romance, of an alpha coming to sweep her off her feet. As she'd gotten older and puberty began to insert its influence, the romance gave way to heated forbidden desires. Her romantic alpha gave way to a seductive forbidden lover determine to claim and possess her. It was when she discovers just how intelligent she was that those sexual and romantic fantasies gave way to the desire to be her own alpha. To control her own fate and future.

Sadly, the universe hadn't liked her new sense of self-government because less than six months after she'd decided her life belonged far away from Beacon Hills everything had begun to fall apart, dragging her in a life she no longer wanted.

 

The bathroom door slammed open as a group of giggling girls crowded into the room. Lydia caught her name before the mocking conversation was cut short. Lydia felt her stomach drop. Part of her wanted to hide, stay locked away in a stall until the whole damn night ended, but she was Lydia Martin and she refused to hide or wallow. She met life head on.

Lydia straightened her back, brushing her hand down the front of her shimmering silver dress, tugging gently at the top. Out of the corner of her eye, Lydia could see her peers shooting her a knowing look, they weren't even being subtle about it, their lips curled up with amusement.

She may be a laughing stock, but Lydia was still a woman to be reckoned with. She shot the group a scathing cold glare through the mirror as she washed her hands diligently. She knew them all, if only by face, and none of them were particularly popular. They all watched her warily, lips pressed tightly together. The repressive atmosphere became too much for one and she swiftly vanished into a stall, abandoning her friends to Lydia's silent fury.

After what seemed like hours to the whole group, Lydia shook off the water and reached for a paper towel, drying her hands. Throwing the damp paper in the basket, Lydia gave her make-up an equally intense check. Once she was satisfied, giving herself a nod of approval, she brushed down her gown once more, she reached for the flower on the counter and turned, strolling past the four remaining girls as if they weren't even there.

It wasn't until she was in the corridor, that she allowed herself to breathe again, relaxing back into her body. The music from the gym was summoning her back, like a sirens song luring her to a fate worse than death. She slowed her pace, feet practically dragging across the tiles. Her heart beat hard and fast in her chest, threatening to rob her of the oxygen she'd only just gotten back. Her whole body began to tremble.

Lydia stopped, turning to lean against the wall, her head hanging forward as she found to control herself. It had been months since her last break, and she'd hoped that they were behind her. Obviously not. Her doctor insisted on calling them panic attacks, her mother said she was just tired. Her father? Well, over the past few months, he'd been accusing her of attention seeking. That she was doing it to somehow sabotage the agreement with the Whitmore's.

Tears began to burn behind her eyes and she took a deep breath, pressing her palms back against the wall. Commanding her body to stop shaking. She told herself she was safe, nothing could harm her here. That she was in control. Only it was a lie, she wasn't in control. She hadn't been in control in months.

She was so focused on fighting off the fear and panic that she didn't realise there were fingers around her wrist until she was pulled sideways into a class room. The surprise sent her heart rate sky high and she felt as if her knees were going to collapse below her. Her back met another wall and she tried to focus on the figure in front of her, but it was just a blur.

"Lydia, calm down." a low, all too familiar voice soothed. "You're safe." it reassured.

Regretfully the words worked no magic at all, shaking began in earnest. She knew there were hands on her bare shoulders but couldn't register the touch.

"Lydia, sweet. You're safe with me. I'll never hurt you." the deep voice whispered, low and reassuring into her ear.

Then there was warmth encompassing her whole body, wrapping her up like a blanket on a cold winters day, and she melted into it, slumping against the solid form in front of her.

Eventually she became aware of where she was, as the fear and anxiety slowly seeped away. There were arms around her, holding her close and offering her comfort. She pulled away reluctantly after a few silently moments, too look up into the man's gaze. His blue eyes meeting her with a mix of heat and ice.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded quietly, pulling free of his arms.

The man raised a brow, looking between her eyes before taking a step away from her. "It's the Samhain Ball, where else would I be?"

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you here...for me?"

The man smirked, leaning back against the desk he shrugged.

"I'm not your mate?" she stated, though her voice was thick with scepticism.

"Aren't you?" her grinned. "Did your boyfriend claim you after I left?"

Lydia swallowed thickly, lifting her chin. She knew it was pointless lying to a werewolf, but she tried anyway. "Yes."

Peter tilted his head to the side, pushing himself off the desk and stepping back into her personal space. He pressed his nose to their throat, inhaling deeply, not touching her in any other way. Lydia felt her stomach tightened at the intimacy of the action, heat blossoming between her thighs.

"I smell nothing but your desire." his lips brushed tantalizingly over the shell of her ear. The warmth of his breath sending a shiver through her. "Does he make you feel like this? No, of course not, because he's not your mate."

Lydia's breath skipped, and she closed her eyes, another shiver rocking her body. Gooseflesh sprang to life on across her skin and she found herself arching towards him. Wanting to have his warmth surrounding her once more.

She could feel her underwear growing damp and was shocked. No one, not even Jackson had turned her on so quickly; and certainly not with just a few low seductive words. She licked at her lips, craving his touch.

"Do you want me to kiss you?" Peter asked, quietly. "Touch you?"

Lydia bite at her lip, fighting to keep a moan of submission at bay, even as her body swayed towards him.

"I will." he said, while keeping the chasm between them. "All you have to do is...say it." he breathed, his mouth now inches from his lips. "Say I'm your mate and I'll give you everything you've ever wanted."

A thrill rippled through her, her body growing wetter at the mere prospect of what he could give her. What she wanted to take from him. Lydia opened her mouth, the words on the tip of her tongue. Just two little words and the tightness between her thighs would be eased.

The banging of a door followed by a loud echo of laugher jerked Lydia back to reality. The reality of her life, where she was destine to marry Jackson Whitmore whether he was her mate or not. Shaking her head, she pushed Peter away, putting as much distance between them. "My mate is Jackson." she insisted, voice strained and trembling.

"What are you so scared of?" Peter demanded, eyes narrow and nostrils flared. "I can smell..."

"It’s none of your business." she snapped angrily. "You can't just show up demanding to be my mate! You need my permission, and I can't... I _won't_ give it too you!"

Peter stared at her for a long moment, eyes searching her face. Finally, he inclined his head. "Very well." he straightened to his full height and stepped forward. Lydia backed up, her spine hitting the door. "But when you change your mind." he said, leaning close. "And I'm sure you will, when you mind, and body will not allow you to rest without me, you can come find me."

Lydia opened her mouth to insist again that she won't want him. That he's not her mate, but instead a question toppled from her lips. "Where?"

Peter smirked. "You'll know." he breathed, his arm reaching for her waist. Lydia held her breath, as it brushed against her hip. "Until then." he said, voice back to a smooth casual tone. "Your ' _mate_ ' is waiting for you." he tugged at the door behind her, and she stumbled forward into his chest. Peter stepped back and looked down at her, sweeping into a low bow. "Until then." then he marched confidently out of the room,

Lydia stared after him for a few seconds, her heart hammering in her chest and her head spinning. When she finally came back to herself, Lydia stumbled the short distance to one of the desks, leaning heavily on the front. Pressing her hand to her chest and tried to breath once again.

In all her 17 years she'd never felt so confused. With him gone Lydia could at least face the truth. She felt it, the bond. He was her mate. Shower that changed nothing, she was meant to marry Jackson, her family depended on it and no matter how much desire Peter filled her with, that couldn't be changed.

Lydia swept her tongue between her lips, the memory of his body warm against hers, the way his nose pressed into her neck. _"Say I'm your mate and I'll give you everything you've ever wanted."_ How she wished that was true, but the fact was the Whitmore’s' had an axe hovering over their heads, ready to fall at any minute, and there was nothing Peter could do to save her from her fate. If she chose him she would be condemning her mother with nothing.

That didn't mean she wasn't tempted.

Shaking off the effect Peter had on her mind and body, Lydia straightened, brushing down her dress once more. She squared her shoulders and left the room, head high. Marching confidently down the corridor, she tried to ignore the looks from her passing peers, but each glance her way felt filled with accusations. A few of her fellow students wrinkled their noses, bowing to whisper into the ear of her partner, and Lydia knew.

She ground to a halt before the doors of the gym, staring in at those gathered. She swallowed thickly at the sight of Jackson, his features cold and pinched as he spoke to Danny and a stranger, who Lydia could only assume was his newly found mate. Danny looked so happy, his lips curved up in a besotted grin, it made her heartache.

That should be her. She should be looking at Jackson with that same dreamy gaze, rather than with contempt and disgust. As her made he should be filling her with excitement at a future together.

Except he wasn't her mate, was he? If he were, he would be at her side now. If he were he'd fill her with longing and warmth, right? If he were her mate, she'd be happy.

With a sad regretful sigh, she spun on heels and hurried for the double doors, bursting through them, gasping in a much-needed lungful of fresh air. Once outside, she didn't stop, instead heading straight for the woods. Her escape.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter can’t pretend that the evening had gone as he’d planned. Lydia hadn’t come to her sense like he’d expect in the last twelve hours, in fact she’d remained stubbornly determined to deny their bond, and continued to delude herself that her mate was that bland brainless jock.

He wondered if she’d still be so eager to be his mate if she could smell another boy all over him. Peter smirked, there was only so much cologne could cover.

Part of him had wanted to tell her, as hid body had hummed with the need to connect. He’d wanted to whisper the truth in her ear, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to. If he were going to win her, it would be because she chose him, not because he was her only option.

And she could chose him. He knew that as surely as he knew his own name. There bond was too strong not to bring them together eventually. He’d just have to be patient, which was something he had a talent for.

As Peter pulled up outside his old house, he stared sadly up at the peeling paint and overgrown foliage. Vines crawling their way up the side of the house, ready to swallow it whole and erase it from the landscape. Only it would fail for he was back now and with a revived sense of hope. The house would not stand as a monument to his failure to find a mate any longer. It would become the family home he’d always dreamt. The home he’d envied Talia for building.

As he sat there, his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, his mind filling with images of the future he now had a chance of having. He could see the bright while of the house, the colourful flowers framing the freshly mown lawn. Lydia, her red hair practically glowing in the sunlight, meeting him at the door, stomach large and round with his child. The sweet sound of their other children echoing out to greet him. Luring him into the warmth and safety of the house.

He swallowed thickly and took a long deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. Then he shoved the car door open and stepped out into the moonlight. He slowly made his way up the porch steps, his fingers lightly brushing over the solid stone. He wondered how Lydia would like the house. What would she want to change?

He unlocked the door and stepped inside, nose wrinkling at the musty smell. Dust clinging to all the surfaces. He’d have to hire a while team to clean the place out. There was no furniture, the only carpet was one of dried dead leaves that had blown in at some point.

There was a cold breeze sweeping through the house and Peter followed it to the second floor, to find a window left ajar in one of the bedrooms. He felt a sharp spike of anger at the thought of someone breaking into his home, but it quickly died when he sniffed the air and recognised Malia’s scent seeping off each wall.

It was faint, due to the fresh air floating in through the window, but a wolf can always scent its own offspring. – No matter how they try to hide. It was how he’d know Malia was telling the truth when she’d arrived on his doorstep.

Peter examined the room, the cool blue paint had faded in place, and the floor boards were rotting slightly. He added them to the list of things he’d have to get done. Seeing as Malia had obviously already claimed the room as her own. He’d have to talk to her about colours of course. – Or more accurately, the designer he would be hiring, would need to speak to her.

Securing the window, Peter turned on his heels and strolled out, heading in the direction of the master bedroom. Pushing open the door he stepped over the threshold cautiously, a strange sense of anxiety washing over him. There was an overpowering aroma of damp, as if the room had cried for the lost lovers it was meant to embrace. Pressing his palm to the wall, thumb rubbing at the plaster as if in apology, Peter sighed. As with the rest of the house, it was bare, but Peter could see in his mind’s eye the large bed. Soft and welcoming, sturdy enough to withstand the force of his and his mate’s desire.

He felt himself harden simply at the thought of it, and he gave into temptation, reaching down to cup his steadily growing erection. A low growled forced its way from his throat, his mind conjuring Lydia, her fiery red hair fanned out on pristine while pillows, her creamy flesh a contrast to the black sheets beneath her. Her lips full and wet from his kiss. Her sharp nails clawing at his back as he buried himself deep inside her.

Peter closed his eyes, squeezing and rubbing at himself through the thin fabric of his suit pants. His back falling against the wall. He could almost smell her sweet scent, teasing at his senses. He could imagine hearing her voice on the wind.

Peter’s eyes flew open when he realised the scent and voice weren’t part of his wild erotic fantasy, but rather the flesh and blood embodiment of them. Pushing himself off the wall, he hurried from the room, lured down the stairs by Lydia’s erratic heartbeat and the aroma of fear, regret and longing.

He paused read the bottom of the steps, watching as she stepped carefully around the living room, her whole body indecent in the moonlight, like an angel sent to offer him salvation. Lord knows he needed it.

“Lydia?” He whispered gently, moving slowly into the room. She instantly stilled, turning to face him. For the first time he smelled the unmistakable scent of tears. “What’s happened?” He demanded, voice low and threatening. He heard Lydia swallow thickly as she shook her head.

“What are you doing here?” He asked softly, once he was reassured nothing had harmed her. To his surprise, Lydia didn’t answer him, at least not in words. Instead she hurriedly stepped up into his personal space, going up on her tiptoes to press her lips to his.

For half a second Peter considered being a gentleman. She was obviously distressed after all, now was not the time to be making life changing decisions, especially when there was every chance she’d change her mind come morning.

However, ten he remembered he was no gentleman and had never pretended to be. He was a wolf. A Hale. He fought to keep what belonged to him by any means necessary.

His arm curled around her waist, pulling her up against him more securely. Gasping, Lydia arched her body, rubbing at his erection. Though it had waned somewhat since the master bedroom, it was quickly regaining its thickness as he licked his way past Lydia’s push lips.

Her slim pale arms rose to encircle his neck, holding on for dear life as Peter savagely devoured her mouth. Lydia arched up into him, her breast full against his chest and her hips rocking against his thigh.

Peter dragged his right and up the length of her back from waist to nap, until he could fully curl his fingers in her thick red mane, using it to cradle her head as he deepened the kiss. Swallowing her heavy lust fuelled moans.

While one hand lay wrapped in fiery curls, the other travelled down to the swell of her behind, working his fingers to claw up the shirt of the satin gown till he could touch the bare flesh beneath. For a moment his lecherous mind teased the prospect of her being completely locking in underwear until he slid his fingers over slightly and found the slim strip of fabric that made up her throng.

The thought of Lydia’s thong did nothing to tame his already out of control libido.

The air was growing with desire and need, he could smell his own pre-cum soaking the front of his briefs, as well as the sharp tang of Lydia’s wetness. He didn’t think he’d been so eager to taste anything in his entire life.

With a ravenous growl, Peter broke their kiss and swung Lydia around until her back was pressed against the dusty wall, before he dropped to his knees in front of his, begging for something only she could give. They were no longer bathed in moonlight but Peter could see just fine. He looked up into Lydia’s equally hungry eyes as his palms massaged her thighs reassuringly.

Lydia answered his unspoken question in the form of her racking her skirt up in invitation, her legs parting. She met his eyes in a silent command, one Peter would not ignore.

He slid his hands up her legs, slowly, thumbs drawing seductive circled across the naked flesh. Her breath hitched the closer he got to the apex, and she pushed her hips forward insistently. Peter smiled wackily and slowly returned to a standing position. Lydia opened her mouth to scold him, but Peter didn’t give her the positivity, recapturing her mouth in a wet, filthy kiss. Lydia letting out a muffled broken moan.

His hands remained pressed to the top of her thighs for a few seconds before he reached for the hem of her thong, locking the digits around it and slowly drawing them down. Lydia gasped into his mouth, her arms coming up to once again wrap around his neck. Hips canting forward.

Peter let the underwear fall to Lydia’s feet and slipped his warm smooth palm around to grope at her back backside, squeezing the cheeks, rolling them in his hands. He felt Lydia trying to raise herself up, probably expecting him to lift her. Well, he would never be accused of not giving his mate exactly what she wanted. With a muffled chuckle, he swept her off her feet as if she weight nothing. Her long creamy legs wrapped around his waist, Lydia’s arms uncurled from his neck and moved to fumble with the buttons of his shirt, breaking the kiss so as to suck and nip at his throat.

Peter moaned loudly, baring his throat to her willingly, his cock so hard now it was painfully pressing against the zipper of his pants.

With Lydia’s weight resting in one arm, he reached down to free himself, sighing with relief as his trousers dropped to his ankles and his cock sprung free of its fabric prison. It brushed against Lydia’s ass and she moaned, rocking her hips into his stomach, coating it with her juices. Peter licked at his lips and returned his hand to her backside, reaching further down until he could feel the evidence of her arousal on the tips of his fingers.

Lydia panted into his ear, her mission to rid him of his shirt forgot at his tough. Peter slid his finger back and forth through her folds, brushing across her clit. She was so wet, so wanton, he couldn’t deny her any longer.

Sipping his long middle finger into the tight channel of her sex, feeling the walls clench and flutter against it, Peter growled while Lydia fought to stifle another moan in his shoulder, unsuccessfully. He could feel her teeth and it drove his own desire on.

Trusting his finger in and out, Peter slowly built the pressure, eventually adding a second before curling them to see out that spot that would set his mate on fire. He found it almost quickly and like that Lydia was alive. Her head flying back, her cried of ecstasy echoing around the empty bare room. She rode herself to orgasm on his fingers, using his shoulders for leverage, while Peter watched.

He marvelled at her beauty as she came apart, gaping at her wild abandon. The passion that crackled free of her. Her complete sensuality. She was perfection.

As her orgasm subsided he withdrew his fingers and reached for his cock, positioning it against her enterence.

“No!” Lydia growled, lifting herself away from him.

Peter froze, looking at her with confusion. “What?”

“No.” She shoved at his shoulders, unwrapping her legs from around him and lowering herself to the floor. Her back pressed to the wall as she tried to regain her balance, “You’re not my mate.” She stated loudly.

Peter growled, eyes flashing a cold blue. How could she still deny it? How? “Yes I am!” He seethed.

Lydia met his gaze, her pupils still blow wide, and the sweat sticking her hair to her cheeks. “How can you continue to deny me?” He leaned forward, boxing her in with his arms either side of her head. “You come to me, just as I said you would. You left your so-called mate to come here and cum for me.” To punctuate his point, Peter reached back down between her legs, slipping his fingers back into her overly sensitive sex. Lydia bit off an instinctive moan and pressed her lips into a thin line, her eyes locked with his as he fucked into her.

She swallowed thickly, her breathing harsh and erective, her thighs clenching as Peter determinedly drew another orgasm out of her.

“Say it.” He growled, his mouth mere inches from hers, as Lydia’s body trembled under the growing pressure. “I’m your mate. Say it!”

The orgasm exploded though her, soaking Peter’s persistent hand. Lydia however said nothing, staring stubbornly into his electric blue eyes. “Jackson is my mate.” She eventually said, hard and filled with ice, as Peter ripped his glistening fingers from inside her.

He growled with frustration. “Your mate?” He scoffed angrily. “How can he be _your_ mate, my dearest Lydia…?” His tone switched to sweet honey. “When he reeks of another boy’s cum?”

Lydia’s breath hitched and her back straightened defensively, eyes widening. “What?” she hissed.

“You heard me, sweetheart.” He lifted his and to his lips, licking at them slowly. Desperate to taste her. “I’d lay money that while you were waiting cold and alone in the dark, dark woods, your precious _mate_ was off getting fucked by some handsome young man.”

 

__(*-*)__

  

Lydia hurried away from the house, leaves crumbling beneath her bare feet as she ran. Despite the cold of the autumn wind, Lydia’s body still felt as if it were on fire, burning her up from the inside.

The further she got from the house, the clearer her mind became and the more terrified she felt. It wasn’t that she was scared of Peter, but rather the way he made her feel. So incredibly alive. She’d always been a sexual being, eager to experience the physical connection but Jackson had never left her feeling so…lost. – And yet found.

The wind crashed into her, biting at her flesh and lifting the shirt of her gown a little. As it did, Lydia shivered, the breeze brushing almost teasingly against the dampness that continued to cling to the inside of her thighs. The sensation instantly bring Peter and his fingers back to mind. The way he’d brought her to orgasm right there in his empty dust riddled house.

She stumbled to a stop, lungs burning, and leaned heavily on the closest tree, gulping down lungful’s of air. Her body beginning to shiver uncontrollably. The last twenty-four hours seemed like some kind of dream. An erotic fantasy that both titillated and terrified, confusing her. Her heart, her head, and most importantly, her soul. All waring against one another. She wanted to scream, loud and endlessly.

She didn’t want Jackson, she knew that. She’d known that the moment her father had practically sold her to him. Their relationship was only meant to see them through high school, and they were meant to go their separate ways. She was meant to head off to MIT and never set foot in Beacon Hills again. OF course that had all been before the bite, before that damn Alpha almost stole her life.

Lydia gasped in another breath as Peter’s words came back to her. _When he reeks of another boys cum_. She swallowed thickly, stomach rebelling against the truth. A truth she’d always suspected if she were honest. – But suspecting and knowing are two very different things.

Had he been with… _whoever_ , while she’d sat alone and cold in the woods, listening to others being claimed? Had he claimed some guy? Who was it? Lydia stared up at the night sky, tears pooling in her eyes as the reality of the situation. She didn’t want Jackson Whittemore, and he didn’t want her. She wasn’t his made.

How long? The question floated across her mind. How long had Jackson been gay? Had he been using her to save face in front of their peers? Lydia shook her head, that couldn’t be it. Sexuality had never been an issue in the town. So why pretend? Why lie?

Pushing herself away from the tree and wrapping her arms around her trembling body, Lydia started moving again; this time at a quick walk.

Her head was still spinning with questions when she reached the back gate of her house. The lights were all out and she exhaled a sigh of relief, knowing her parents weren’t home yet. Though they would return eventually, demanding an explanation, or at least her father would. Maybe she should escape for a while, go stay with Allison. – Except, Allison would be too busy with Scott.

With a resigned sigh, Lydia licked her lips nervously and winced at the lingering taste of Peter. A sudden terrifying thought slammed into her, what if her father insisted on bringing Jackson back with him? She wouldn’t put it past the man. He’d become obsessed with her and Jackson’s ‘ _relationship’_ over the last few months.

If Jackson came back, he’d smell Peter on her and she could already hear his furious yells, could already feel his hands on her arms as he demanded to know who the strange scent belonged too. – While Jackson may not love her, may not want her, he seemed determined to go through with their parents plans.

Shaking her head furiously at the whole disastrous situation, Lydia took off into the house, hurrying up the marble steps and into her bathroom. She stripped quickly out of her dress and underwear, turning on the shower as she did so. The gown would have to go. – But washing Peter from her skin was her first priority.

Climbing under the shower of hot water, Lydia gritted her teeth as the heat burnt her skin, but she ignored it. As the water cooled a little, she ducked her head beneath the spray and reached for the shampoo.

It took three washes before she was satisfied the man’s scent would be gone. Her scalp felt raw and tender beneath the water. Her flesh quickly suffered the same treatment. Reaching up, she removed the shower head from its cradle and lifted her right leg to rest on the small tilted ledge. She inhaled sharply as the spray massaged her folds.

Peter hadn’t gotten as far as fucking her. She’d stopped him before that, but as the water hummed at her enterence, she remembered the feel of him as he prepared to enter her. The head of his cock demanding entry, pleading for release.

And she’d wanted it. Oh good lord had she wanted it, but the moment she’d felt him, all that passed through her mind was her mother’s face, broken and guilt ridden, as her father told them what they’d lost, and what it would cost to keep what little that remained.

Of the rules and how giving herself over to lust would destroy her family. That consummating a bond was so…final. If she’d continued, if she’d let Peter take her, there would be no going back. The bond would be permanent and forever.

Jackson might not be her mate, he may not truly want her, but with him her parents would not have to lose everything. – And she’d still get to live half a life. She was still being given a chance at college.

With Peter she would be tied down, fulfilling the role of mate. Baring children, hidden away behind cold walls. She shook her head violently. No, she would not be that. – At least not yet.

Gasping, Lydia felt her legs begin to tremble as the water relentlessly pounded against her clit. God, how she wished she could have both. Her mate and her family, she closed her eyes and let the pleasure build, causing her heart to race and her breath to catch. Images of Peter filled her mind’s eye. The haunting feel of his mouth on hers. She licked at her lips again, massaging her folds, her fingers slipping insider her. She could almost pretend it was Peter, final fulling the promise of a short while ago.

It would have been incredible, Lydia knew it instinctively. He’d know how to touch her, as if he’d been doing so for a lifetime. Playing her like a well-tuned instrument. Jackson was good, but not _that_ good. Was he able to understand her body so completely because he was her mate?

Her legs shook and she almost lost her balance, quickly turning, Lydia perched herself on the ledge, legs spread, shower-head continuing to help draw her quickly towards orgasm. She let her head rest against the tiled wall gasping in damp air.

When she finally came, her moan echoed around the bathroom, while Peter’s name only resounded in her mind. Removing the shower-head and fingers from between her parted thighs, Lydia allowed herself a few minutes to recover, before climbing back onto still shaky legs and giving her flesh one more quick wash. When she climbed out, wrapping the soft baby blue towel around her, she felt drained, heavy, and incomplete.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and that you'll be back for more. I'll try to make the next chapter longer.
> 
> I have a couple of notes.
> 
> 1: I know it was greatly speculated as to who Lydia's mysterious lover was, well as the tags had already informed you, its Peter. Honestly, I thought more of you would have figured that out.
> 
> 2: I went with twenty-seven as the cut off age for The Run randomly, though I figured it had to be old enough to make Peter too old but young enough for Derek to still take part. I also realize that the whole premise of the Samhain Rite/Run is extremely questionable, but I see it more as a cultural tradition that no one's ever decided to put a stop to. There's a lot of similar cultural/religious beliefs in the real world that many would see as dubious, outdate and practically primeval but the people involved in them see as perfectly normal. This isn't any different to that. [I'm not taking pot-shots at any particular religion or culture, I'm just state a general observation.]
> 
> 3: For this story Malia was not adopted but rather her mother's name was Tate.
> 
> 4: I apologies to any Jackson fan. He is coming across as an abusive boyfriend in this and it is not simply a plot devise but partly based on what I see in his character - particularly in season 2. His treatment of Lydia is appalling and frankly it baffles me how she could possibly go back to him. - Of course Peter's not much better in many respects. Personally I find Lydia's taste in men almost as questionable as Derek's taste in woman. They both seem to have a 'kick me, I like it' streak going through them.
> 
> I'd love to hear who you all think Jackson was with when he was meant to be in the wood with Lydia, though I will neither confirm nor deny any of your suspicions. You'll just have to wait for the reveal. - Any and all feedback is welcome.


End file.
